


Fridates and Wedding Cakes

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Some of these are canon compliant, Thanksgiving, Weddings, domestic fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: A collection of ficlets, originally posted onmy Tumblr, that for some reason never migrated over here. Some are alternate universe meet-cutes, some are future fics, a few are canon compliant. All are Zimbits-centric.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 57
Kudos: 214





	1. Let Them Eat Cake I

**Author's Note:**

> A wedding meet-cute featuring baker Bitty and best man Jack, originally posted on my Tumblr in May 2018. Part one of two.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Eric is sure he has the date and location right, but the venue is empty when he arrives with his clients’ wedding cake. According to the schedule he was given, the reception is scheduled to begin in an hour, but nothing about this place indicates a party is about to take place. In fact, based on the folded table cloths and half-taken-down decorations, it looks like the party’s over. He looks around for a place to set the cake so he can call his assistant to make sure he’s at the right place.

“Let me help you with that.” An impossibly handsome man in faded jeans and a Providence Falconers T-shirt, whom Eric hadn’t noticed when he walked in, is walking toward him.

“I’m supposed to be delivering this wedding cake,” Eric tells the stranger. “The Knight-Duan wedding?” 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” the man says with a grimace. Eric must look stricken — they were _such_ a nice couple — because the man rushes to explain. “I mean, the wedding is happening, just not here, today. They decided to elope about three hours ago and asked me to head over here to tell any of their guests who planned to come to just the reception. I’ve just been cleaning up.”

“Oh.” Eric feels a little relief at the man’s explanation, because the couple really had seemed happy every time he met with them. 

“I’m the best man. _Was_ the best man? I’m Jack.” When Jack smiles, the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. 

“Eric,” Eric says. “From Cake Haus.” Eric would shake Jack’s hand, but he’s still holding the cake.

Jack’s whole face lights up at that. “You did the cake when the Falconers won the Cup two years ago! Best cake I’ve ever had.”

“Best job I’ve ever had,” Eric says. “It’s not every day I get asked to make a cake for the Stanley Cup champions. Are you with the organization?” Eric only follows hockey a little bit, but now that he’s mentioned it, Jack does seem familiar.

“Ah, yeah. I play, actually.” Jack seems to blush a little. “Jack Zimmermann.”

“ _Oh_.” And now Eric is the one to blush, because he really should have recognized the man whose face graces the billboard he drives by every morning on the way to work.

“It looks like they forgot to call you,” Jack says, pointing out the obvious. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here.”

“Well, they’d have had to call me a lot more than three hours ago to if they wanted to cancel their order,” Eric says lightly.

“Sorry about that. My friends are idiots.”

“They really just … canceled their wedding?”

Jack shrugs. “Lots of family drama. Anyway, I think Shitty secretly liked the idea of planning a huge wedding and sticking his father with the bill. His father is kind of an asshole.”

Eric nods, a little confused but not entirely surprised. He does a lot of weddings; he’s seen worse.

“I really hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to come out here,” Jack apologizes again.

“No. Not at all. As long as they’re still paying me,” Eric jokes. “I’ll just … take this back to the bakery.”

“They’ll pay you when they get back into town. Or I can pay you right now, if you want. Do you take credit cards?” Jack reaches for his pocket, a little uncertainly. 

Eric can’t believe how impossibly sweet and awkward he is. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving him off. “They paid the deposit months ago; I’ll bill them for the rest.”

Jack nods. “Can I get you anything for your trouble? I was just packing up the champagne. You could stay for a drink?”

And hell, why not? It’s not like he had anything better planned for tonight. Might as well sit with a cute boy — _who likes his cake_ — and drink somebody else’s canceled-wedding champagne. Eric sets the wedding cake down on one of the tables and watches Jack rummage through a box at his feet, from which he extracts two red Solo cups. “Pretty sure this was for beer pong at the after party,” he says.

“You know,” Eric says, and if he’s flirting a little it’s only because Jack started it when he asked him to stay for a drink, “drinking on an empty stomach is only asking for trouble. We could have some cake?”

“Yeah,” Jack says as he pops the cork. “I’d love that.”

It’s the first time Eric and Jack eat wedding cake together, but it won't be the last.


	2. Let Them Eat Cake II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After writing [the first part of this from Bitty's point of view](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798225/chapters/54482284), I couldn’t stop thinking about continuing it from Jack’s perspective. Here’s part two! Originally posted on Tumblr in May 2018.

If Jack Zimmermann were a betting man, he would have bet against Shitty and Lardo going through with their wedding. He is not a betting man, but he does know his best friends, so Shitty’s announcement three hours before the ceremony doesn’t come as a surprise as much as an annoyance.

“Brah!” he yells, bounding into the room in nothing but his underwear and throwing an arm around Jack’s neck. “We’re gonna do it!”

“I know, Shits.” Jack shrugs his best friend off of him and turns back toward the shirt he’s ironing. “You’ve told me three times already.”

“No. We’re gonna _do it_. Lards and I are going to Niagara Falls. My dad is being a real dick about like 18 different things, including my mom’s new dude sitting with the family, so we said screw it, let’s elope.”

“Shits.” Jack is at a loss for words. “You’re getting married in _three_ _hours_. You have 200 people showing up in two. You rented a ballroom we spent all morning decorating.”

“And Lards has a dress that gonna look great on me when I wear it for our wreck the dress shoot at Prophet Isaiah’s Second Coming House. Everything’s all taken care of, man. Rans and Holster are going to hang out here and tell everyone the wedding’s off. We were kind of hoping you could head over to the reception just in case anybody shows up there?”

Jack sighs, but what else is a best man supposed to do when the bride and groom ditch their own wedding?

*

Annoyed but not surprised is how Jack feels until the baker shows up. Shitty and Lardo, in their haste to get out of town before their parents could stop them, forgot to cancel the cake order. He’s spent the last few hours packing up all of the decorations they put up earlier and is about to take the last box to his car when a man carrying a wedding cake walks in.

Jack hears his voice — kind, curious, a hint of something Southern creeping through — before he sees him. When he looks up, his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been so instantaneously attracted to anybody in a long time, but this man, with his large brown eyes, blond hair, and toned arms that are expertly carrying the three-tiered cake, is exactly his type.

He thinks he makes a fool out of himself apologizing and explaining the situation, but the baker — Eric — is forgiving, if not a little confused. Desperate to make it up to him (and maybe, if he’s being honest with himself, to get him to stay and talk a little longer) Jack offers him a glass of champagne. He’s not really expecting him to say yes, but a giant smile breaks out on Eric’s face.

That smile makes Jack feel warm and a little dizzy, which is ridiculous because he hasn’t even had a drink yet. Quickly, before Eric can change his mind, Jack pulls a couple of beer pong cups out of the box at his feet.

“You know,” Eric says, leaning a little closer to Jack, “drinking on an empty stomach is only asking for trouble. We could have some cake?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He finally works the foil wrapper off the top of the champagne bottle and pops the cork. “I’d love that.”

Eric glances at the box the cups came from. “I don’t suppose they have a cake cutter in there?”

Squatting, Jack looks through it again. “Nothing for cutting a cake. There’s a —” he holds up something that looks like a small spatula — “cheese spreader?”

“Well,” Eric says, “I've made do with less.”

“I packed up the cheese board right before you got here,” Jack says. “I can go back to my car and get it.” He’s a little shocked at how forward he’s being, but if it means stealing some more time with the cutest boy he’s met in a long time…

“You get the cheese, I’ll just keep working on cutting this cake.” Eric tentatively scores the top tier with the spreader and makes a small cut. He looks up at Jack and grins. “It’ll do.”

Jack is a goner.

“I’ll be —” he nods at the doorway — “my car’s just out there.” Jack sincerely hopes Eric is too busy with the cake to notice the way he trips over his own feet on his way out the door.

When he returns, it’s to Eric holding two misshapen lumps of cake out to him. “Best I could do,” he says apologetically.

“I’m sure it tastes great if it’s anything like the one you made when we won the Cup.” Jack sets the cheese board on the floor and accepts one of the pieces of cake from Eric before sitting down in front of the cheese. Eric sits across from him.

“So, if you don’t mind me being nosy, how do you know those two?” Eric asks.

“College,” Jack tells him. “Shitty and I played hockey together, and Lardo — Larissa — was our manager for three years.”

“Have they always been—?”

“The way they are? Yes. Frankly, we were all surprised when they announced they were having an actual traditional wedding because Shitty’s been railing against the institution for as long as I’ve known him. Once we got the invitations, we figured they’d actually have to go through with it, though.”

Eric nods and sips at his champagne. “Y’all met at Samwell, right? I almost went there.”

“Yeah?”

“Almost. At the end of the day, I decided to go to a state school back home in Georgia so I could save some money. Ended up here for a social media internship and did that while I put myself through pastry school.”

 _Georgia_. That’s the accent.

“That’s impressive.” Jack takes a bite of cake and almost moans out loud. It’s as delicious as he remembers.

“Well.” Eric smiles shyly. “Not as impressive as winning the Stanley Cup, but I like to think I’ve done okay for a kid from small town Georgia. Everyone sure was surprised when my mama showed off the issue of _Providence Magazine_ that featured one of my cakes on the cover.”

“I didn’t surprise anybody with my career choice. I think most Canadian parents hope their kids will play at least for fun, and given who my dad is…” Talking about his complicated relationship with hockey has gotten easier over the years, particularly now that he’s a Stanley Cup champion, but it’s not usually a conversation Jack has with somebody he’s just met. Eric, though, puts him at ease, and he seems genuinely interested.

Before Jack knows it, they’ve finished off the entire bottle of champagne and most of the top tier of the cake. “I think,” Eric says, licking some frosting off of his fingers, “we probably should’ve saved the top for them. They might want it for their anniversary.”

“I’ll buy them a new one,” Jack says. “If they even miss it. As you might have guessed, they aren’t big on tradition.”

“I think I figured that out when Shitty asked me if I could make a weed-infused groom’s cake.”

“Ha ha. That sounds like him.”

“You have them call me, though, if they want to pick the rest of this up when they get back. I have the freezer space to store it for a day or two.”

Jack is already planning to offer to pick it up for them so he can see Eric again. “I can help you get that back in your car,” he says. It’s a ridiculous offer because Eric had no problem carrying it when it was one tier heavier, but maybe he wants to show off a little. He might be underestimating the effect of the champagne, though, because he stumbles a little getting to his feet.

“Easy there,” Eric says, grabbing Jack’s bicep to steady him. “Didn’t think that would hit a big guy like you so hard.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Jack admits.

“Maybe we should wait a little bit before we take off.” Eric’s still holding onto Jack and looking up at him. There’s a smudge of frosting on the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve got something there,” Jack says, touching the spot. Eric turns a bit red and brings his hand toward his face; Jack grabs it. He waits a beat, then another. Eric gazes back at him with those wide brown eyes. The rational part of Jack’s brain — the one reminding him he’s only known Eric for two hours — wars with the part of his brain that speaks with his father’s French-Canadian accent and says things about missing shots you don’t take. Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes a step closer and kisses him.

Eric Bittle tastes as sweet as he sounds, and kisses Jack back like he wants this just as much. They part long enough to catch their breath. “I can stay a little longer,” Jack says. “They paid for this place until midnight.”

Eric pulls him down for another kiss.


	3. Thankful Here With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Thanksgiving 2018. A Zimbits future fic.

Jack wakes to the aroma of fresh-baked apple pie.

That, in itself, is not unusual. Nor is the fact that it’s only 6 a.m. and Bitty’s side of the bed is cold. What is unusual, when Jack pads into the kitchen still wiping the sleep from his eyes, is that Bitty’s pulling what must be the fifth pie from the oven.

The countertops are covered in flour, the sink is full of potato peels, and Bitty has a crazed look in his eye when he spots Jack from across the room.

“Hi, honey,” Bitty says, pulling his headphones down and smiling all warm and soft. “Didn’t hear you get up.”

“I’m surprised you can hear anything over your music,” Jack says, tapping the headphones.

“Lord, I feel like I’ve been cooking all day.” Bitty dramatically wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Well …” Jack’s eyes dart from the oven to the sink to the counter. Bitty must have gotten up hours ago, to have done this much already. “You kind of have.”

“It’s just that I want everything to be perfect,” Bitty says in a near whisper.

Jack doesn’t laugh because he knows how important today is to Bitty. Both sets of parents have long since given their blessing but on some level he’s pretty sure Bitty feels like he needs to prove himself. It's probably like the way he feels when he knows his parents are in the stands at one of his games.

“Bits, this isn’t the first Thanksgiving dinner you’ve made. This isn’t even the first Thanksgiving dinner you’ve made this _year_.”

Last week, Bitty had insisted on a test run, so they’d hosted a Friendsgiving dinner for some of their friends and Jack’s teammates.

“But what if Mama can tell I’m using Judy’s stuffing recipe? What if my mashed potato casserole isn’t as good as your dad’s? You know Coach loves that nasty canned cranberry abomination; what if he hates my fresh cranberry sauce? What if —” A wave of horror washes over Bitty’s face — “What if we run out of pie?”

Okay, that warrants a laugh, even if it does result in an unnecessarily forceful hip check.

“Your mom knows Judy’s stuffing is better,” Jack says calmly. “Papa always oversalts his potato casserole. Your dad will love your cranberries, but just in case he doesn’t, I added a can of Cranberry Abomination to last week’s grocery delivery.” He points at the pantry, where it’s hidden behind three bags of flour. “And I promise, we won’t run out of pie.”

Bitty relaxes into Jack’s arms for a breath, just long enough for Jack to consider trying to convince him to come back to bed with him and take a nap, but he springs away when another timer goes off. “My sweet potato casserole!”

Jack knows when he’s not being helpful. Despite Bitty’s theatrics, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate to put him to work if he had something for him to do. So Jack finds another job.

Bitty doesn’t even notice him leave the room and returns dressed in a pair of warmup pants and an old Samwell hoodie. He doesn’t notice him grab his keys from the hook by the door and quietly exit.

In better weather Jack might walk to the coffee shop down the block, but it’s snowing lightly and it’s Thanksgiving and maybe he just wants to get home to his boyfriend that much faster. He orders a large pumpkin spice latte from the lone employee, who smiles and makes polite conversation even though she’s working at 6 a.m. on a holiday.

He leaves a $20 tip because it’s Thanksgiving and he can afford it.

He doesn’t say anything as he re-enters their disaster zone of a kitchen, just intercepts Bitty as he races from the fridge to the stove and hands him the still-steaming latte.

“PSL?” Bitty asks, bringing the cup up to his face and inhaling deeply.

“With an extra shot of espresso and extra whipped cream.“

“You are the most perfect man. How would I ever get through today without you?”

Jack is already reaching for an apron. “Need help with these dishes?”

“Sure, Sweetpea. And can you pass me that potholder to your left?”

Jack hip checks Bitty as he hands it over, then rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.


	4. Fridate #1 - Catsitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written as part of a Tumblr series I called Fridates, in which each Friday I posted a little fic about a Zimbits date. Most were written around one-word prompts. The prompts for this ficlet were "cheese" and "blue cat."

“Do you have the key, Sweetpea?”

Jack pulled the key to Tater’s apartment out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “Is she in here?” Bitty asked as they walked in.

“Tater said she’s shy,” Jack said, “but that she likes playing with her feather and the mouse.” He looked at Bitty, concerned. “Is that a thing? Do you think —”

“It’s probably not a real mouse, honey,” Bitty reassured him. “Why don’t you check her food and water while I see if I can get her to come out and play.”

The toys — a feather wand and a small, soft mouse — were easy enough to find. Bitty picked up the feather. “Here, kitty.” He dangled it in the air and swished it back and forth. “Miss Blue?”

 _Something_ ran out from under the couch and skidded to a stop in front of Bitty. The cat — small, gray, sporting a purple collar with a bell on it — chirped at Bitty and batted at the feather.

“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart? Do you want to play with your feather?” Bitty shook it again and giggled as Blue chased after it.

In the kitchen, he could hear Jack fill her bowl with dry food and run the tap. When he finished he joined Bitty in the living room.

“She’s cute,” he said as she ran to the top of the couch and waited for Bitty to approach with the feather.

“Do you want to play with her?” Bitty shook the feather at Jack, an offering. 

“Euh, I just …”

“Just hold it by the wand and wiggle it a little. She’ll come right after it.” Bitty placed the toy in Jack’s hand and, keeping his hand over Jack’s, gave it a little shake.

Blue bolted off the couch, landing at Jack’s feet.

“Ha ha. Okay. How’s this?” Jack lifted the wand so the feather was at hip-level and slowly twirled it. He wasn’t prepared for the way the cat leapt straight up toward him, twisting in the air before landing. “Oh!” He took a step back. Soon, he’d figured out a rhythm, and five minutes passed before he noticed Bitty taking video from the couch.

“Have you been doing that this whole time?”

“Only a minute or so,” Bitty said. “Gosh, you two are cute. I’m gonna send this to Tater.”

“Yeah, she is pretty cute. We should get going though. Dinner reservation is in twenty minutes.”

“Hang on.” Bitty slid off the couch to sit next to Blue on the floor. He allowed her to nuzzle against him as he scratched under her chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bits,” Jack said, joining them on the floor. “I’m thinking it, too.”

“You’re on the road so much, though,” Bitty said, a tad wistfully. “Best to wait until I graduate.”

“I’m sure Tater will let us come play with her whenever we want, as long as you keep him supplied with jam,” Jack reasoned. He reached out a tentative hand and scratched her behind the ears. “We really do need to leave now, though.”

“Yeah, yeah. One last picture?” Bitty put Blue in his lap and scooched closer to Jack until all three were in the frame. “Say cheese.”

After dinner, he shared the picture on Instagram: “#Fridate delayed due to catsitting duties. Thanks for the playdate, Miss Blue!”


	5. Fridate #2 - A Night In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "A night in." (Canon compliant domestic fic.)

Jack takes one look at Bitty and knows they aren’t going to dinner tonight.

He’d texted before leaving Samwell to let Jack know he was running late due to an emergency team meeting — “Nothing serious, just giving everyone a pep talk about keeping up with classes during playoffs” — and called when the storm delayed him further. 

“Don’t rush,” Jack told him. “Just drive safely.”

Now, he’s standing in the doorway, a little wet and looking for all the world like he hasn’t slept in three days. He probably hasn’t. Jack knows he had an essay due today, which means he likely spent all of last night writing and the two previous nights stress baking.

“ _Honey_.” Jack just manages to catch Bitty as he collapses into him, boneless.

“Rough day, bud?”

“Mmmmmph,” Bitty mumbles into his chest as Jack shuffles them over to the couch. “’m gonna get the couch all wet,” he says as Jack pulls him into his lap.

“There. Now it’s just me you have to worry about. How far away did you park?”

“Far enough,” Bitty grumbles, pulling away a little. “Lord, a little rain and suddenly everyone forgets how to drive. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“Don’t be. I’d rather you get here late than not at all.” Lately, as Bitty’s final semester draws to a close and they’re heading into their respective playoff seasons, it’s been “not at all.” Three weeks of nothing but early morning or late night Skype sessions feels like an eternity. Just a couple more months of this, Jack reminds himself. Living under the same roof won’t change everything that’s difficult about Jack’s challenging schedule, but at least they’ll have each other to come home to.

“Why don’t you change your clothes and rest for an hour,” Jack finally says. “I’ll take care of dinner.”

“You don’t mind not going out? We’ve been planning this for weeks.”

“I’ve been eating on the road for weeks. I don’t care where we eat, as long as it’s together.” 

Slowly, Bitty slides off of Jack and gets to his feet. When he stretches his shirt rides up, just a little, exposing a bit of skin. Jack stares a little too long, catches Bitty catch him staring. “I know,” Jack says. “Later.”

“Later,” Bitty promises. He gives Jack a quick peck on the cheek before he heads down the hall to their bedroom. 

Jack usually shops — or schedules a grocery delivery — before a Bittle weekend, but having just gotten back into town himself, he’d decided to wait until tomorrow so they can go shopping together. As a result, he knows the kitchen is pretty bare. Still, he manages to find a box of gourmet pumpkin spice pancake mix in the cupboard, most of a carton of eggs in the fridge, and — under three different ice packs and a bag of chicken tenders — a half-bag of frozen bell peppers.

It will have to do.

He pulls out the frying pan and pancake griddle they bought the very first weekend Bittle spent here, prepares the pancake batter while everything is heating up. While the first batch of pancakes cooks on the griddle, he looks in one of the cabinets for the candles and candlesticks he knows Bitty hid away.

The peppers go in the pan to sauté. Pancakes get flipped, eggs get cracked into the pan and scrambled with the peppers. Jack’s lit the candles and is plating the meal when he feels Bitty’s arms wrap around him from behind. 

“Looks like the chef’s special,” he says into Jack’s back. “My favorite.”

“That’s pretty bold,” Jack says. “Let’s try it first.” He tears a bit of pancake off the one he just plated and pulls Bittle around so he can see his face. He still looks tired, but he’s clean and soft in a pair of shorts and one of Jack’s t-shirts. “Here.” He deposits the pancake directly into Bitty’s mouth.

He chews thoughtfully. “This from the mix your parents sent?” he asks. 

Jack nods. “They said to save it for a special occasion.”

Bitty snorts. “Or when we’re too lazy to go shopping.”

“Or that,” Jack agrees. He allows Bitty to feed him a bite. “Not bad,” he declares, “for pumpkin spice.”

Bitty hip checks him into the counter. 

“Oh, is this how it’s going to be?” Jack smirks. “And here I thought we were going to have a romantic dinner.”

Bitty has a hand on his hip and is pressed up against him and _oh_ , this _is_ how it’s going to be. “We are,” he says, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “But I feel like having dessert first.”


	6. Fridate #3 - Children's Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Museum" (Future fic, kid fic)

Eric Bittle has seen a lot of cute things in his lifetime, but former Stanley Cup MVP Jack Zimmermann sliding around a makeshift indoor ice rink in his socks has got to be in the top three.

“Scoot, scoot, babe!” he calls as Jack skids to a stop behind their daughter and scoops her up in his arms. When Jack spins around to face Bitty, he’s already got the camera out.

“No paparazzi,” Jack says, deadpan. “I’m here with my daughter.”

“No!” the wiggly three-year-old in Jack’s arms echoes. She squirms enough to knock Jack off balance, just a little. Bitty hides his smile and takes a series of photos as Jack struggles to stay upright without dropping Ellie.

“How are you so good at this in skates, yet so terrible in your socks?” Bitty chirps.

“Daddy skate now?” Ellie asks. 

“Yeah, does Daddy want to skate?” Jack asks with a smirk. 

“I would love to skate with you,” Bitty says, “but your time here is just about up. We need to let other kids have a turn. How about we go play in the store?” 

Jack passes Ellie over the “boards” to Bitty, who helps her with her shoes while Jack finds his own. They each take a small hand and walk with Ellie to the chid-sized grocery store, complete with child-sized shelves stocked with “food,” shopping carts, and registers. 

Bitty and Jack sit on a bench and watch from a distance as Ellie selects plastic produce from a bin and places it in her little cart. When she tires of “shopping,” they find the reading room on the second floor and read picture books about weather and outer space. After a water exhibit, the music room, coloring, “skating,” and the store, it’s a nice respite. 

“Are you ready for another book?” Jack asks when Bitty finishes reading a book about colors.

Ellie shakes her head. “Lunch!”

“It _is_ after noon,” Bitty points out. “And I think _somebody_ promised her burgers and milkshakes.”

At the word “milkshake,” Ellie looks up.

Jack pulls an innocent face. “I don’t know where she got that idea.”

“Papa said milkshakes.”

Bitty smirks. “Papa did, huh?”

“There was a two-for-one coupon on the app,” Jacks defends himself.

Bitty laughs as they gather their things and put the books they’ve been reading back on the shelf. “Between the museum membership from your parents and your _coupon_ , Mr. Zimmermann, this is turning out to be a pretty cheap date.”

“The best kind,” Jack says, picking Ellie up and settling her on his hip.

“The best kind,” Bitty agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The skating exhibit featured in this fic is based on one I took my kids to at the Chicago Children's Museum many years ago.


	7. Here's to new beginnings

Jack Zimmerman’s therapist would tell him not to dwell on his disappointments, but it’s hard not to, on the last day of a year full of disappointments.

The year had begun with a difficult breakup and the hits had continued to come, with a disappointing end to the season and a surprise trade from a team he loved. His year had culminated with surgery for an injury that just won’t heal. He should be getting ready to play in tomorrow’s Winter Classsic, but instead he’s sitting alone in a ski resort cafe.

“Please come with us,” his mother had exhorted over Christmas dinner. “I don’t like the idea of you sitting alone in your apartment on New Year’s Eve.”

Jack hadn’t even bothered to protest that he had plans because he knew she knew better. It had been months and he still hadn’t bonded with his new team, sidelined as he was. And he hadn’t really made new friends in Boston yet, either. He would be very much alone on New Year’s Eve, and his parents knew it.

“Hi, hey, is this yours?”

Jack looks up at the source of the voice interrupting his brooding. A man whose blond hair is just barely visible under a striped toque is holding a mug emblazoned with the ski resort’s logo. Jack remembers passing him last night at dinner as he and his parents were being seated. He’d been part of a loud, raucous group at the bar. They were like any other group of halfway-to-drunk friends seated there, and shouldn’t have stood out to Jack, but something about this man’s golden hair and his animated way of speaking had caught his eye, and Jack had stopped in his tracks for just a second until his mother had nudged him to keep walking.

Now here he is again, standing in front of Jack and holding his mug out like an offering. “Are you Jack?” he tries again. “They called yours right before they called mine and I guess they thought we were together because the next thing I know, the barista’s handing me your coffee.” His mouth quirks up in a little half smile.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks,” Jack stammers, reaching for the mug.

“Do you want cream and sugar? I can get it,” the man offers. He gestures to Jack’s foot, clad in its unwieldy boot. “Since you look like you’re more comfortable sitting.”

“I actually take it black,” Jack says.

“Well, looks like you’re all set then. “ The man gently places Jack’s mug in front of him.

“I’m Jack,” Jack says and immediately realizes the man literally just asked if he was Jack. Luckily, the man he just laughs and pulls up a seat at Jack’s table.

“I know, you told me,” he says kindly. “I’m Eric, but I’m here with some college friends so I’m just as likely to answer to Bitty.”

“Where are your friends?” Jack asks as Bitty takes a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, here and there.” Bitty waves blithely in the general direction of the ski slopes.

“You aren’t …?”

“Oh, gosh, no thank you!” Bitty exclaimed. “I told them one run down the bunny hill is all I’m good for and I followed through on that. This Georgia boy is allergic to the cold.”

“I think you’re in the wrong place if you were hoping to avoid the cold,” Jack can’t help but chirp.

“I think you’re in the wrong place too,” Bitty chirps back, tilting his head at Jack's boot, “seeing as how you don’t seem fit to ski right now.”

Jack chuckles. “My parents insisted I join them.”

Bitty shrugs. “Same with my friends. Adam and Justins’ boss booked a non-refundable room and had to go out of town for a funeral at the last minute, so he gave it to them and they invited the whole gang. Lord, it’s just like being in college all over again, all six of us crammed into a single room. Worse, even, because I had my own bed in college and last night I slept on the floor. Don’t tell them, but I’m glad for the break.”

“I won’t,” Jack says, laughing.

“So how’d you hurt yourself, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, um … “ It’s clear Bitty hasn’t recognized him, or maybe he’s just being polite. Either way, he hasn’t given Jack any reason to be wary so he goes with the truth. “Stress fracture. From hockey.”

Bitty immediately turns an adorable shade of pink. “Oh my lord,” he moans, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I should have recognized you. I have season tickets. I’ve been to all your home games this season.

“Well, ah, it’s not like I’ve been on the ice,” Jack says.

“I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here talking to Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says. Slowly, he looks back up at Jack. “I hope you don’t think I’m a terrible fan. You look a little different in street clothes.”

“My mom picked them out,” Jack says, because it’s the truth, and because nobody has ever accused Jack Zimmermann of being smooth.

“Well, your mama has good taste,” Bitty says, because Bitty is obviously one of those people who can pick up any conversational thread and work with it. “And so do you. I heard you didn’t want to leave Providence, but we’re real happy to have you in Boston. I can’t wait to see you play.”

For the first time, the thought of suiting up in Bruins colors doesn’t make Jack cringe.

“Where are your seats?” Jack asks. Not that he’s already thinking about looking for Bitty in the crowd when he finally does get back out there …

“Oh, we’re — ”

“Bits!” They’re interrupted by a man wearing a garish, 1980s-style neon pink ski suit and a much smaller woman in a sleek black outfit. They’re not alone, Jack realizes, as they approach their table. “You’ll never guess who we ran into on the slopes!” the man continues to yell, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the patrons. “Motherfucking Bad Bob Zimmermann and his lovely bride, the one and only Alicia Zimmermann.”

Jack’s parents stand behind Bitty’s friends, wide grins on their faces.

“Hi, Maman. Papa,” Jack says.

“Bobby Z said he’d take the polar bear plunge with us at midnight,” the pink man says, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and wedging it into the space between Jack and Bitty. “You sure you don’t want in, Bits? It’ll be one hulluva Instagram story.”

“I think I’ll pass on this particular Shitty Knight adventure,” Bitty says with a roll of his eyes. “But please, don’t let me spoil your fun with Bo — Mr. Zimm — Mr. Jack’s Dad,” he trails off, cheeks pink.

“Jack’s … Oh!” For the first time, Shitty seems to notice Bitty’s companion. “Jack Zimmermann! Your parents said you were hiding somewhere around here. Sorry about the Cup, man. That was a tough loss. I cried when the Schooners scored that overtime goal.”

“He did,” Bitty confirms.

“Ah, well, not every year is a championship year,” Jack says.

“Truth,” Shitty says, nodding sagely. “We just missed winning the Frozen Four my senior year.”

Bitty leans across the table toward Jack. “He cried then, too,” he says in a stage whisper.

“You play?” Jack asks, looking from Bitty to Shitty. It would, at least, explain the names, and the season tickets.

“Well, not anymore,” Bitty says with a shrug. “But I was first line at Samwell University a few years back. Captained my senior year.”

Jack allows himself to think about what his life would be like now if he’d gone the college route instead of entering the draft. He wouldn’t be here right now, nursing a bum foot. Or talking to Bitty, the first person who’s caught his attention in almost a year. Who, he suddenly realizes, he wouldn’t mind talking to for the rest of the night. If not longer.

“That’s …” Amazing. “Incredible.” He’s not sure he’s talking about the hockey or his sudden revelation.

Bitty shrugs modestly. “An interesting story I get to tell people now that it’s over.”

“It’s cool,” Jack finishes lamely.

“Chyeah, it’s cool,” Shitty says. “This guy couldn’t even take a check when he joined the team. To go from that to being the first out NCAA hockey captain in just a few years? Fuckin’ incredible.”

The first out … oh. Jack meets Bitty’s eyes across the table and Bitty gives a modest little shrug. Behind Bitty, Papa beams.

“Jack, honey, we’re going to go back to the room to nap and freshen up before dinner. We’ll see you a little later?” Maman gives him an encouraging little nod and smile.

“Come on, Snow Bunny Barbie.” Bitty’s other friend locks arms with Shitty and gives Jack and Bitty a meaningful look. “You should rest up, too.”

“I’ll be up in a bit,” Bitty tells his friends. He holds his mug aloft. “Might as well take them up on that free refill.” He smiles across the table at Jack.

“Me, uh, me too,” Jack says, tapping his mug. Both of his parents smile their approval and oh god, Maman has a look in her eye and Papa is still grinning and they’re going to say something, aren’t they?

Luckily, Jack’s saved by Shitty, who flings an arm around Papa and begins giving him a detailed itinerary for the evening’s plunge as he guides him toward the door. The two couples exit together, leaving Jack and Bitty alone again.

“My apologies in advance if your dad ends up with pneumonia because of Shitty,” Bitty says wryly.

“Ha ha. He goes by Bad Bob for a reason. I guarantee you, he was just waiting for someone to ask.”

“Well,” says Bitty, picking up his mug, “I really did mean it about that refill. Can I get yours for you?”

Jack nods his assent and slides his mug across the table to Bitty.

“Here’s your boring black coffee,” Bitty chirps when he returns. He sits in the seat Shitty just vacated. Jack’s not always good at picking up on signals but this might be a signal, he thinks, as Bitty’s knee brushes up against his.

“Do you want to get dinner with me?” The query flies out of Jack’s mouth before his brain has a chance to stop him.

Bitty freezes, coffee mug halfway to his lips, and his eyebrows shoot straight up. “Like, as a date?” he asks, and Jack’s glad Bitty said it because he was afraid he was being too much.

“If you want it to be,” Jack says sincerely. “It can just be dinner.”

“I think dinner sounds just lovely,” Bitty says. “And I’m okay with it being a date, it you want it to be.” He smiles warmly and gently bumps Jack’s knee again.

That was definitely a signal.

Jack can feel the dull ache in his foot, reminding him of all the reasons it’s been such a shit year. But as he and Bitty sip at their drinks and smile at each other from behind their mugs, he decides that next year is already looking better.


	8. Little Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the inbox prompt: "What do they hide from each other?"

Bitty’s sitting at the kitchen table, lips set in a grim line, when Jack walks in.

“Sweetheart, I think we need to have a talk,” he begins, and Jack’s heart begins racing. Bitty’s not — no, this can’t be one of _those_ talks. They just got married. They’re happy! If Bitty were having second thoughts, surely Jack would know by now.

“Euh, sure.” Jack takes the seat across from Bitty, waits for the bomb Bitty is surely about to drop.

“I was in the pantry looking for the extra bag of cake flour, and I found _this_ , he says accusingly, theatrically pulling an opened, half-eaten bag of Oreos out from under the table. “What do you have to say for yourself, mister?”

Well. This isn’t as bad as Bitty leaving him, but it’s not great. Jack thought he’d hidden the cookies, a small but regular indulgence he kept from Bitty in anticipation of this exact reaction, well.

“What’s wrong with my cookies, Jack?” Bitty asks with an eerie sweetness belied by his steely gaze.

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong with your cookies!” Jack reassures his husband. “Your cookies are the best.”

“Then why,” Bitty seethes (is he .. trying not to laugh?), did I find _store bought cookies_ in my pantry?”

“Because I like them!” Jack admits. “I like Oreos. Sometimes when you’re away I’ll buy a bag. I like to crush a few up in milk and eat it like cereal.”

“Ew, Jack!” Then, smiling, Bitty says, “You know, if you like them that much I can try to make some. Give me a few hours in the kitchen and —”

“Bits.” Jack is smiling now too, relieved that the worst has passed. “I have no doubt that whatever copycat recipe you come up with will be amazing. But I like these shitty store-bought cookies. Just let me have this, okay?”

Bitty sighs, apparently resigned to the idea that he’s not going to win this one. And maybe it’s okay, because then he says, “Well, since we’re both here … Do you wanna show me how you eat these with milk?”


	9. "You're in love with her"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the inbox prompt: "'You're in love with her' but not a person - 'her' is something/someone unexpected."

“Good morning, sweetheart! You sure do look beautiful today.”

Jack startled at the sound of Bittle’s voice, still not used to sharing his space with another person. Sharing it with Bittle. This was different than when they’d lived together in the Haus, or his visit to Madison. In the short time he’d been in his condo here in Providence, he’d become accustomed to his solitary living situation. The realization that Bittle was actually _here_ (though only for a few more days) was still a sweet surprise.

“Morning, Bits,” Jack replied, not looking up from the cup of coffee he was preparing. He poured in what he thought was the right amount of cream and swirled it a bit, assessing the color. He’d committed to learning as much as he could about one Eric Bittle during this visit, and that included how he took his coffee. This thing between them was still so new, yet he could easily imagine beginning each day just like this for the rest of his life.

He wanted to be prepared.

“It feels like a muffin morning, doesn’t it?” Bittle murmured. “Blueberry? Or maybe chocolate chip, how does that sound? Something decadent to go with our coffee?”

Jack set the mug on the counter. Coffee was good, but Bittle’s good morning kisses were infinitely better. (They’d already had one go at it this morning, before Jack’s run.) He turned toward his boyfriend, ready to kiss him again, when he realized … Bittle wasn’t talking to him at all.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what we make; you’re so perfect you’ll be able to handle anything. Not like that hand mixer back at the Haus. She’s a real sweet girl but she’s let me down a few times,” Bittle said to the bright red KitchenAid stand mixer they’d unboxed together yesterday afternoon.

“Bittle, are you talking to … the _mixer_?” Jack asked, fighting a grin.

“It’s Millie and yes, I’m just wakin’ her up,” Bittle replied, easily falling into Jack’s open arms. He rested his head on Jack’s chest.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Jack chirped. The look on Bittle’s face had definitely said as much yesterday when Jack had surprised him with the gift.

(Jack had called it a “housewarming present.”

“Honey, I think _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to be giving _you_ the housewarming present,” Bitty had said fondly.

“I want you to feel at home here,” Jack had replied. “This is your place too.”)

“Well, yes, a little,” Bittle admitted now. “I can’t help it, she’s the third most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Jack snorted. “What are the first two?”

“Beyoncé at the Met Gala and, well, _you know_.” Bittle slyly reached around and grabbed a handful of Jack’s ass.

“Well, good to know I outrank a kitchen appliance, at least,” Jack said with a wry grin.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know you’ll always be my number one,” Bittle said, reaching up and planting a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek.

“Literally. It’s on my jersey.”

“You’re _awful_.” Wiggling out of Jack’s embrace, Bittle turned back toward his workspace. “So, do you have a preference? Blueberry or chocolate chip?”

“How about both?” Jack suggested, already opening the cupboard where they’d put the baking supplies they’d bought yesterday. “So I have leftovers after you’ve gone back to Samwell.” Not that Jack even wanted to _think_ about Bittle leaving when he’d just gotten here. Since Bittle did eventually have to leave, Jack reasoned, the extra baked goods he was sure to leave behind would help the place feel like home in his absence.

“Both is perfect,” Bittle breathed, moving in for another kiss.


	10. "You're trembling"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an inbox dialog prompt: "You're trembling."

Daisy altered them to the Fed Ex man’s arrival before he had a chance to ring the doorbell. Even with two rounds of training, they still hadn’t managed to break her of her tendency to “greet” visitors to the home.

But even if Daisy hadn’t been on top of things, Bitty would have been ready. He hadn’t slept well last night, tossing and turning and getting up at 2 am to do something in the kitchen, which meant Jack hadn’t slept well either. (There _had_ been pumpkin spice muffins for breakfast, though.) He raced to the door (Jack followed) and flung it open.

“This one requires a signature.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you!” Bitty said as he scrawled his name and accepted a medium-sized box. “You have a nice day!” he called to the departing delivery man before closing the door and turning to face Jack, box clutched tightly to his chest. His eyes were bright with tears. “Lord, I can’t believe it’s here,” he whispered.

“Well, let’s take a look, eh?” Jack gently guided Bitty, who was still rooted in place, to the kitchen. While Bitty stared at his package, Jack found the box cutter in the junk drawer. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Bitty finally set the box on the counter and started to make an incision in the packing tape, only to stop and look at Jack, eyes wide. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You’re trembling,” Jack said, placing a steady hand over Bitty’s. “I can do it if you want, but it really should be you.”

“Maybe just help with the tape,” Bitty agreed. “I need you to take video for my stories.”

Jack chuckled and handed his phone to Bitty. “Sure thing, bud. Go ahead and get it ready while I open this.” When he finished the job, he traded the box for the phone and got in position as Bitty slowly pulled out some packing paper and a note on bright purple paper, which he set aside. Jack wanted to lean over and peek inside, or at least tell Bitty to hurry up, but he knew Bitty must be overcome with a variety of emotions. It had been that way for him, when the Falcs had won that first Cup, and this was nothing if not Bitty’s own version of the Stanley Cup.

“So, um,” Bitty swallowed hard and looked directly into the camera. His eyes were still watery but his smile was bright. “Some of y’all have been following me a long time, and some of you are new, but I wanted all of my readers to be the first to see my new book, _Easy as Pie_. You’re getting the first look right along with me and Jack, who’s right here with me behind the camera. Say ‘hi,’ Jack.”

“Hey, Bittle.” Jack zoomed in as Bitty pulled a stack of books — five author’s copies, sent by his publisher — from the box. He set the stack in his lap and held one out to face Jack and the camera.

“Lord, she’s beautiful,” Bitty breathed in the awestruck tone he usually reserved for Beyoncé. “Isn’t she pretty?” In his professional voice, he added, “ _Easy as Pie_ includes 25 of my favorite dessert recipes and will be available in bookstores and online next week, but there’s an exclusive preview up on my publisher’s website right now. You know the drill, link’s in the bio …” 


	11. "Lie to me, then"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the inbox dialog prompt: "Lie to me, then"

“Do I even want to how much butter is in the frosting alone?” Jack asked, indicating the birthday cake Bitty had just set in front of him. Jack had expected something for his 40th birthday, of course — Bitty didn’t even need a special occasion to bake — but he’d really outdone himself this time. The three-tier cake, frosted with Bitty’s signature chocolate buttercream and decorated with fresh strawberries and a layer of chocolate ganache, barely fit on the cake plate.

Fortunately, they would soon have a house full of former hockey players and their families to help them eat it. The only thing Bitty loved more than baking for Jack was baking for a crowd, and said crowd was scheduled to arrive within the hour. “Probably not,” Bitty said.

“Lie to me, then.”

“It’s, uh, vegan. Vegan and gluten free and chock full of protein, Mr. Zimmermann. And antioxidants! Chocolate and berries are full of antioxidants. It’s practically health food.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, it’s not vegan,” Bitty admitted. “And I didn’t put protein powder in the frosting; I learned that lesson a long time ago. But I did use a flourless recipe, mostly for texture. And dark chocolate and berries really do have health benefits. I’m just looking out for your health, now that you’re an old man.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Bits.” Even so, Jack was having a hard time resisting taking one of those perfect farmers market berries from the cake and popping it into his mouth.

“You know,” Bitty said, trying a different angle, “chocolate and strawberries are supposed to have aphrodisiac properties. We can put that to the test later, after the party’s over.”

Suddenly, Jack didn’t really care how much butter was in the cake.


	12. "I can explain"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the inbox dialog prompt: "I can explain." This takes place in the same universe as my time travel series [Once in a Lifetime](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1248758), and features the same child characters.

“Sweetpeas, I’m home!” Bitty called out as he let himself in the front door. Not that anybody heard him. Bitty followed the sound of music — Jack had recently gotten the kids into Billy Joel — into the kitchen. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

On the kitchen table: a cherry-stained Carter, singing “Movin’ Out” into a wooden spoon. On the floor: what had been, when Bitty left for work this morning, a perfect cherry pie meant for their preschool co-op’s silent auction and carnival later that evening. Also on the floor: Birdy, eating what appeared to be the remains of said pie straight from the tin. 

Conspicuously missing from the scene of this pie-related crime was his husband.

“Sweetie?” Bitty called tentatively. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, why is our daughter eating pie off of the floor?”

Jack emerged from the pantry, can of cherry pie filling in one hand and a tell-tale cherry stain at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Bits. I can explain.”

“Can you?” Bitty asked, doing his best to look threatening when all he really wanted to do was kiss that cherry stain off Jack’s mouth.

“Ah — ” Jack tossed the can of cherries to Bitty, who deftly caught it. He might not get out on the ice very often thee days, but his reflexes were still sharp. “Well, there was an accident with the pie.”

Carter abruptly stopped singing. “Birdy wanted to see it and we tried to be careful but it fell. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Jack nodded. “That’s about right. Carter was trying to help but the counter was a little too much of a reach. We thought we’d make a new one to replace it but you’re a little early.”

“Are you mad?” Carter asked.

“Of course I’m not mad.” Bitty scooped Carter up from the table and hugged him to him. “I have a few thoughts about standing on the table in those sneakers of yours, but I’m not mad about the pie. You and Papa can help me make a new one while Birdy naps.”

“No naps! Pie!” Birdy yelled from the floor. 

Bitty shook his head. “Really, Sweetpea? Right off the floor?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s really good pie, Bits. Last year it went for $70. It seemed a waste to just throw it away.”

“Oh my lord.” Bitty wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, or take a picture.

“Better hurry before it’s all gone.” Jack handed Bitty a fork.

In the end, Bitty sat down and ate slightly smashed pie with the three people he loved most in the world.


End file.
